Nation of Warriors
A descendant of Crazy Horse
My blood was derived from his name
I am part of a wild band of Oglala Lakota
Who refuse to be tamed
Our teachings, older than this country
And wiser than its leaders
We are and always have been
Natural creation teachers
We have ancestors in every direction
Who guide our way
And we follow a wound to heal
Like a scab after decay
Many times over
Our people were met with gun and force
In order for others to profit and gain
Without remorse
Yet in times where it seems “Indians”
No longer exist
We carry out the fight forward
And continue to resist
Attempting to distort our identity
By maiming us out
And creating desolate reservation lines
That fill us with doubt
Suicide rates
Are higher than the national average
Yet no one cares
Because it’s a “red skin savage”
The irony of being First Nations People
Is being last
Is how far from “first” you’ve been cast
But since my blood is being measured
I’m considered less than half
Half of what?
A false definition
Because they only way you can measure
Pride is in repetition
We lived through the western films
That praised the white man and killed the red
We survived passed the many treaties
In which dishonesty bled
Your Fear
Yet we are still here.
Descendants of Crazy Horse do not
Easily demise
Because there is Crazy Horse blood
Running inside
Pride.
Copyright © Izzy B Hearty Brave Heart | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment